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: E. H, STANDISH 



SHADOWLIGHT 

A POEM, - 

B. H. STANDISH; 

AUTHOR OF 

"AMONG THE DELLS." 



^5 




EVANSVILLE: 
ENTERPRISE PRINT, 

1885. 



.535^ 



rui iCopwiffht, 1885,1 . , 
^*'i by the author. ^^ 



PREFACE. 

Different motives inffaence different 
men to write poetrj^, and a writer may 
be influenced by many motives, but the 
passionate liking of poetrj' is the prin- 
cipal one. Thus it follows that however 
much a reader may enjoy a poem his 
pleasure is apt to be less than the au- 
thor's was in writing it. 

But there are many vvho never read 
poetry; but perhaps their number will 
become less as poets continue in show- 
ing less of philosophy, and more of 
nature and of the human heart. 



This poem is such as I would buy at a 
book-store, read, re-read, and tr}- to in- 
duce my neighbor to read. Still I do 
not expect il will please all; but 1 ex- 
pect it maj^ please those whose theory of 
poetry is like my own. 

B. H. Standish. 

Evansville, Wis., 1886. 



— ^^^>— 



AMONG THE DELLS, 
A POEM, 

With Illustrations. 



^. H. STANQ)ISH. 



It relates a charming story about the 
weird old haunts of the Wisconsin. — 
Ei:ansville lieview. 



The poem by its simplicity, its exact- 
ness of detail and its perfer^t descrip- 
tions, shows a delightful fulfillment of 
the author's desire. — University Press. 



Pages 106. 8vo. Cloth SI. 25. For sale by 
the author, Evansville, Wis. 



CONTENTS. 



FIRST DAY. 



PAET FIEST, THE KIVER, - 3 

PART SECOND, THE SETTLER's HOME, 18 
PART THIRD, THE ORPHAI^, - 30 



SECOND DAY. 

PART FIRST, THE SETTLEMENT, - 42 

PART SECOND, THE COUNCIL, - 59 

PART THIRD, A STRANGE PIONEER, 71 
PART FOURTH, THE BATTLE OF BAD 

AXE, - - - 83 

PART FIFTH, THE MISSION, . 92 



SHADOWLIGHT. 

Come, Traveler, stay with me a day ; 
Thy feet are sore and hard the way, 
And heavy falls each mile of road 
Upon thee; heavy is thy load. 
But otay until the morrow's glow, 
For in the woodland roses blow 
And thrushes sing and we will go. 
A lake is there whose banks low lie, 
To photograph the hollow skj' ; 
And quietude is on the spot, 
And weariness shall be forgot: 
So come and stay with me a day, 
And when thou shalt resume thy way, 
More light. T trust, shall seem thy load, 
And shorter every mile of road. 



Fair.flaxen morn ! thou gray-robed grace 
Now blushing, as we view thy face. 
And spreading wide thy golden fan 
Before the steady eye of man! 
The village cocks play chimes to thee; 
A thousand songsters, puffed with glee, 
Fling up good-morrows on the air. 
Good-morrows answer everywhere. 
The clouds I looked upon last night, 



SHADOWLIGHT. 



As high thej^ hovered, cold and white. 

Are on the mar&h, and fallen lie 

As motionless as on the sky: 

While stealthy vapors rise and fall. 

Along the summit of the hight. 

As in-door shadows on the wall. 

When lamps are out and flames are 

bright. 
Some hand hath sown, as thick as grain 
Upon the ready soil, bright drops. 
That twinkle on the grassy plain. 
And wink among the growing crops. 

Here lies the lake; a gallant drake 

Leads out his partner in his wake. 

While in a half-reluctant mood 

Follow the downy little brood. 

The halcyon leaves his lowly rest. 

Upon the lake's unruffled breast 

His image shows a snowy vest; 

And faintly comes his echoed scream. 

Like whispers o'er a haunted stream, 

Or voices of a fevered dream. 

The wasted bank, tree-plumed, and 

grave. 
Where Time's vast masonry doth show. 
Yet smoothed by sun and frost and wave, 
Is outlined in the world below. 



SHA.DOWLIGHT. O 

Yon crab-tree feeds the perfumed air; 
The noisy bee shall labor there 
The bright da}' through, and pack within 
The bristled hollow of the thigh. 
The golden dust that it may win 
From clusters stained with I'OS}' dye. 
A little sparrow, fresh from rest, 
Now perching on the leafy thorn 
Above his mate's overcrowded nest, 
Flings down a welcome to the morn. 
The great horned owl is still awake. 
And far his measured accents break, 
The forest takes the lonely cry. 
And echoes back a dole reply. 
The nibbling rabbits to and fro 
Along the clover pastures go. 
But often start, and stop, and hark. 
As sounds the farm-dog's hollow bark; 
The heifer lows upon the lea. 
The cosset shakes its noisy bell. 
And drones his tone the butnble-bee, 
As passing to the flowery dell. 

The village in the valley lies 

A scattered jlock; far toward the skies 

The gray and vane-capped church-spires 

rise ; 
There bometimes peals the marriage bell, 



SHADOWLIGHT. 



And souieriraes uioans the fmieral knell; 

While rounrl iss borne upon the air 

The Sfiered song- and solem!i prayer. 

Upon the shallow, winding- race. 

The hungry mill still keep< its place. 

Where year by year, in suit of gray, 

Amid the rumble and the spray. 

The miller toils; he sees each day 

A Rhenish city far away. 

And hears each evp the noisy rill 

That turns his father's humble mill. 

Beyond this aged work is seen 

The schoolhouse on the path-worn 

green ; 
There germs of great republics swell! 
Behind, upon tln^ sloping hill. 
The marble city, white and still. 
Where all of us must some day dwell. 

Long years ago, while in the wood 
Thtj great beams of that mill yet stood. 
The native launched his light canoe. 
Upon this sheet of liquid blue; 
The doe. beside her spotted young, 
Reclined the tufted brakes among; 
The shiny bear then made his den 
Within yon cool and rocky glen; 
The bison roamed throughout the year, 



SHADOWLICtIIT. 



Yet found his favorite pastures here. 

The years went on; the settler came 
And claimed the forest and the game; 
He built beside the stream and lake. 
Upon the plain, and in the glen-. 
He shot the deer beside the brake, 
The bear before his bony den, 
The bison at the river's brink. 
While knee-deep standing still to drink. 
This kindled up the native's wrath; 
He watched upon the intruder's path. 
And touched his flinty-pointed dart 
With venom from a jealous heart; 
While many a horrid trophj' told 
His aim was true, his hand was bold. 

The valley of the river Rock — 

Good field for corn and haunt for game — 

Grew noted through a hostile flock 

Of natives that each summer came ; 

Yet homes sprang up along the stream, 

As flowers along a woodland path; 

The settler struggled to redeem 

The waste that still his offspring hath. 

Above the highest settlement. 

The soldier came and pitched his tent. 

Then made a fort, to reassure 



SHADOWLlGHT. 



In pence, in \v:ir to make secure. 
Far north\\ ard townrd tbe wilderness 
Of stately pines the prairie lay. 
Where once the bison roamed, but less 
He came of late, and short his stay. 
And eastward rose the billowy hills. 
With stunted forests here and there. 
Which autumn's drift of flame, that kills 
The tender life, had dei.o:ned to spare. 
And southward, through its banks of 

sand. 
The river glided ceaselessly. 
Fair forests clothed the bottom-land. 
And bluffs reached out determinedly. 
As if to hold it from the sen. 
Until at last it bursts with joy 
Upon the fields of Illinois 
To wed a greater soon than she. 
And westward in the prairie grass, 
Upon a single stream of glass, 
Four little lakes had made their nest. 
Where now^ the citj'' ever blest 
Is brooding like a swan at rest. 

One blessed day in blessed June, 
When all the woodland kept in tune, 
A young man left the Fort, intent 
On visiting the Settlement. 



SHADOWIJGHT. 



No soldier he, but in the band 
Gave help to him who held conimaiid, 
And he a worthy map could draw, 
Without a blot, witliout a Haw ; 
Draw plants and insects, fish and birds. 
For that fast growing manuscript, 
For which the Major's pen was dipped. 
And had so many Latin words. 

But half the eastern line of gray 
Had caught the blushes of the day, 
When downward to the river-bank. 
Where many groups of birchens lay 
Among the willows, green and rank, 
He lightly took his dewy way; 
The fairest boat his hand untied. 
Its head was pointed down the tide; 
It moved as if it loved the strife 
Of element, and throbbed with life. 

The river here among low hills 
Wound on its interrupted way. 
Along its banks the woods in frills 
And unpretentious clusters lay; 
Xow widening, where the shifting sand 
Might tax a boatman's unskilled hand, 
Xow narrowing, the margined trees 
Foi-nied broken arches where the breeze 



10 SHADOWLIGHT. 

Played in its many minor keys. 
The boatman passed the rocky height. 
Where lingered shadows of the night. 
Below the islands bare and white; 
Then through thick fog, where yet no 

beam 
Of morning light caressed the stream, 
And by the marsh that hid in steam. 
He did not make a hasty note 
Of what his bark before liini brought. 
But seemed half thoughtlessly to Hoat, 
Half thoughtlessly he seemed in thought. 

There is a spot, mid reeds and brakes. 
Upon the border of a wood. 
Where suddenly the river makes 
An elbow, and the view is good. 
The boatman gained the little cove. 
Within the shadow of this grove. 
And with his oar no longer strove ; 
But still the wavelets rose atul fell 
Around him in a growing swell. 
Like undulations of a bell. 

About ihis placid little bay 
Mild nature held her simple swa}'. 
The river sobbed and glided by. 
A solemn wood was sleeping nigh. 



SHADOWLIGHT. 11 

And oil one side was open sky; 

Above its rim commingled rills 

Brought down the rainfall from the hills. 

The reeds and willows bent to look, 

And in the mirror-water laved. 

While on the margin of the brook 

The honey-laden linden waved. 

The boat had startled from her sleep 

A mallard in her suit of gray, 

And now with ever widening sweep 

She screamed and circled o'er the bay. 

Among the lily-pads a mink 

Would rise, a moment Ptare, and sink; 

While dreaming yet upon the silt, 

A bittern balanced On its stilt — 

A self-made sentinel no doubt 

For nesting-mate somevvhere about. 

Across the river and below 

Were flats that vanish in high tide 

Where fed, mid sand-girt isles, a doe. 

A spotted fawn was at her side. 

From this mild scene about the bay 
The youth looked toward the opening 

day. 
The master painter had begun 
His work upon the eastern sky, 
And all about the rising sun 



12 SHADOWLIGHT, 

Was seen a many-colored (jye; 

And nortliward by a cloud was made 

A picture of a vast crusade. 

As strange an imagery of cloud 

The youth saw westward, where a sea. 

Shut in by mountains, stern and proud. 

Seemed frozen in an hour of glee; 

The waves still showed their hoary locks. 

Mock ships seemed beaten from their 

way, 
And driven on the jagged rocks. 
Which still held up the frozen spray^ 

The youth from r^very awoke. 
The oar was tightened in his hand. 
His bark the liquid-mirror broke. 
And anchored on the sloping sand. 
The bittern stretched its neck to note 
The unwelcomed presence of the boat. 
Then spread its wings and in the wood 
Sought out a deeper solitude; 
The shiny mink was scared, and sank 
To hide beneath the tunneled bank; 
Above a choir of eager bees 
Still sung about the linden ti'ees. 
And from their creamy blossoms bore 
The trifles of a golden store. 

The patli which led him from the bay 



SHADOWLIGHT, 13 

Within the lovelj^ woocHand lay; 
This wood — an ancient sngar-canii). 
Where formerly the native came. 
When all the earth with spring- was damp 
To draw the sap, and strike his game; 
In autumn here the Indiaii boy. 
Once clapped his little hands for joy 
Among the nuts, which frost would pluck 
And tling down from the loosened shuck. 
The wood was thick, its broad tops 

make 
A canopy of even shade. 
Save here and there a sunnj^ rent. 
Where once some patriarch had grown, 
Which^ when the hurricane was sent. 
Upon the sounding earth was thrown; 
Above the ground the fallen lay, 
Dissolving in a red decay 
Where squirrels stored their holiday. 

The wood was passed, his path was 

layed 
Along a cool and fresh arcade; 
Some hand, it seems, long years ago, 
Had planted here a brok-on I'ow 
Of air}' elms, and either side 
Had stately growths, with arches wide; 
Upon their trunks the lichens clung, 



14 SHADOWLTGHT. 

From oiitslretched arms green climbers 

svvuiig. 
And shily at their mossy feet 
The little star-tl owe r took its -seat; 
While maicleulike, the eolumbine 
Hid features iieath a hood divine. 

The path now left the bottom-land. 

And wound up o''er a windy bluff, 

Whose wooded growth is scant enough 

To let the sunlight on its sand; 

The summit bears its stunted oaks. 

Their kind below the prospect chokes; 

But through the openings you can see 

The prairie, with its grassy hil]s» 

And valleys where the waters flee 

In spring-time, with their thousand rills. 

And near are cultivated fields; 

And somewliat of the flat is showed 

Upon the woody right, where steals 

The ford-bent militarj' road. 

Upon the left is heard the sound 

Of farm life; shrill-voiced chanticleer. 

And lowing kine; the boisterous hpund 

Pursuing some far-fleeing deer. 

Some secondary bluffs at hand 

Wall in a little plot of land ; 

The rows of gray stone are emboss«.d, 



SHADOWLIGIIT. lo 

And worn b}' rain aiul smoothed by frost 
The chinks between are ferned and 

mbssed ; 
Beneath the lower tier of blocks. 
Which form this pile of corded rocks, 
A little spring is given birth. 
Bj" some dark cavern in the earth; 
A skillful hand hath built around 
A rude, j^et firmly fashioned wall; , 
The water gives a constant sound 
That o'er the margin takes its fall. 

Why came he here, who was not gay 
Upon this-4-nature's holiday? 
Came he like schoolboy, in sweet June, 
Who takes a pleasant hour at noon, 
]n mimic chase of hare or hind. 
But deep within the wood doth find 
A little spring, mid moss and sand. 
And drinks from out his hollow hand. 
Then fiings himself upon the land, 
And hears the mystic partridge drum. 
And songs that have but lately come 
Into the woodland old and dumb. 
Till sylvan fairies seem to dance 
About him in a merry throng, 
Anfl spread their dull, delicious trance 
Upon him, and he lingers long? 



16 SHADOWLIGHT. 



Xo matter why he came, his ear 
Detected footsteps, drawing near; 
He stepped amid the elder bloom, 
Which tilled th^ nook with sweet per- 
fume. 
And saw, upon the spring ward trail, 
A man approach with staff and pail: 
His day seemed in its afternoon; 
White yeais had crowned him, and full 

soon 
A humble bed. a narrow room. 
Must be^his kingdom— in the tomb. 
His single eye successive yiewed 
The brook, with nielod}'^ renewed. 
The ancient and overhanging trees^ 
Xow palpitating in the breeze, , 

And noAv the clouds, and sky that bent 
Above all like a mighty tent. 

He paused before the spring at last. 
And held the pail beneath the rim — 
A scollop where the waters passed — 
Until it had a flowing brim. 
Hereat from out the elder screen, 
Monroe, all bushing to be seen. 
Reluctant stepped and paused between; 
The Settler, in a kindly tone. 
Spoke out a welcome to his guest. 



SHADOWLIGHT. 17 

At which the youth possessed his own, 
For he with easy speech was blessed. 
They talked about the Fort and news, 
The wood below, the distant views, 
In short, as other people talk, 
Who meet upon the lonely walk 
Of frontier lite — until at last 
Together from the spring they passed. 
And disappeared where trees were 
massed. 



-^^<^<^-^>^ 



18 SHADOWLIGHT. 



PART SECOND. 

THE settler's HOME. 

This day was like some human lives; 
It had a birth in wondrous light, 
When stars went out, as other wives. 
And then it journej^ed on less bright. 
In clouds and darkness to its night. 
The Settler sat beside his door 
And thought of his departed guest, 
And watched the shadows evermore 
Descending on the lighter west; 
About him hung a veil of gray, 
And mist was in the firmament; 
Which made these latter hours of day 
Appear like darkness of a tent. 

The hiredman unyoked his team 
Before the mossy water-trough, 
Which had a cool and constant stream 
That from the brook was broken ofi. 
The heifer peered above the gate, 
Her evening and her morning haunt, 
Impatiently she seemed to wait 
The maid that would relieve her want. 
The doves were silent in their cot. 
The chanticleer beneath the shed, 



SHADOWLIGHT. 19 

And e'en the swallows had forgot 
Their twitters ere the day had fled. 

A gentle rain began to fall; 
It gathered quickly on the lot, 
Beyond the poplars pale and tall, 
Then thickened as it neared the cot. 
The Settler heard a childish call. 
And took his great-armed chair, and bore 
It through the loud-complaining door; 
But ere he had resumed bis seat. 
His youngest daughter came to meet 
Him with a smile and welcome sweet. 
A gentle child of winning ways — 
Or not a child, because she stood 
Beyond her childhood's mist and haze 
In sunny morn of maidenhood. 
She softly took her father's hand. 
And asked him why he seemed so sad; 
If rain should flood the bottom-land 
Would it destroy what grass he had; 
Or did he fear a wash of soil 
Among the hills; or that the grain 
Upon the sand}^ flat would spoil, 
If there should be much rain. 
The father gazed upon his child , 
Then gathered up, and faintly smiled 
And said, "It is not that I fear!" 



20 SHADOWLIGHT. 

Then turned the talk, and showed good 
cheer. 

He dared not tell the little maid, 

The hillside spring had ceased to flow, 

Which all these years had brightly 

played — 
Except the dreary day a blow- 
Had layed her darling mother low — 
For then she, too, had doubtless thought 
The omen had new evil brought. 

A sister, in a silent mood, 
Before a high-silled window stood; 
She lightly drummed upon its form, 
And watched without the growing storm. 
The flat was hid beneath the screen. 
The wood was veiled but showed its 

green. 
The winding road was soon unseen; 
And near at hand the poplar trees 
Flung out their satin-bottomed leaves. 
Which swayed about and danced at ease; 
And out beneath the barnyard sheds, 
The cattle shook their horny heads, 
And quarreled for their choice of beds; 
And in the little cot for doves. 
The gallants played about their loves ; 



SHADOWLIGHT. 21 

And now and then the cpats they wore 
Would flash before the oval door; 
And at the steps the flag-stones showed 
Their hollows long since overflowed, 
And seams where trampled grasses lay; 
While in the raintrough, old and gray, 
The bubbles seemed to be at play, 
And whirled and danced then passed 
away. 

Two horsemen galloped up the road, 
At first but dimly seen in mist, 
But Hearing more distinctly showed 
Their lives had military gist. 
They paused before the open shed. 
And saw their horses housed and fed — 
But ordered such a feed of oats 
The hiredman displayed amaze, 
At which they cursed penurious ways, _ 
And said that they were royal shoats. _ 
But when they sought the cottage door. 
To ask a shelter from the storm, 
A kindly look the Settler wore, 
And bid them welcome without form. ^ 
And then he ordered food and fire. 
And quickly from the cellar brought 
His home-brewed beer, and said he 
thought 



22 SHADOWLIGHT. 

It healthy, though it made one dryer. 
And they related whence they came, 
And news about the Settlement; 
While in the lire-place aflame 
Crept up among the sticks, and sent 
A pleasant light about, a plume 
Of smoke up through the sootj vent. 

The well kept room was ample size, 
And showed a neat but simple guise; 
Upon the whitewashed walls now played 
The shadows that the fire made. 
The corner had its curtained bed. 
With foot-board and its globe-capped 

posts, 
Which midday sunshine showed in red. 
And midnight fancies changed to ghosts. 
Like paper, with its lines of black. 
The chamber-floor showed many a crack ; 
And on the further wall, among 
Ground-pine, a little picture hung; 
It showed some battle where the dead 
Still kept their wounds of faded red; 
While on another wall, mid moss, 
A maid was weeping hj the cross. 
Within a distant corner stood 
The clock, which had a record good; 



SHADOWLIGHT. 23 

It tolfl the month, the clay, the hour, 
The change of moon, with drouth and 

shower, 
So wise it seemed that one might trace 
His destinj' upon its face. 
A cord suspended in the room 
The black wasp's tenantless balloon; 
While near, a mounted falcon stood, 
With outstretched vvin£;s and ruffled 

hood; 
And nameless works of art were there, 
Of ferns, and leaves, and flowers rare, 
And floating castles in the air. 

Few companions in grief or mirth 
Ere gathered at a settler's fire, 
Who had so various a birth. 
Or such a various desire. 
The host had lost his golden keys; 
He once had opulence and ease. 
And sails upon commercial seas. 
But storms of fierce disaster came, 
And took his favorable name. 
And left him poverty and shame ; 
At which he sought the wilderness, , 
And hither brought his little flock 
To find seclusion, peace, and bliss, 
Within this home beside the Rock. 



24 SHADOWLIGH-T. 



And here he toiled, from year to year, 
Nor made a sigh, nor dropped a tear, 
For what he once had held so dear; 
And now his years lay on him like 
A fleece most shorn, yet he could strike 
A woodman's blow, or build a dike; 
One loss, and one alone he knew; 
The monster death had plucked his heart, 
And hid it where the grasses drew 
Their greenness from its mouldered part ; 
But all these years his manly life 
Was faithful to his buried wife. 
Ah, thou hast given us a true 
Ideal, though it be not new! 
And thou hast proved, and none regret, 
That love is not tour-footed yet. . , / 

His favorite sister moved about '' 

To superintend the evening meal; 
While from the kitchen, smells of trout 
And corn-bread now and then would 

steal; 
A woman blessed with gentle ways; 
And innocense of childhood days; 
Although her lonely life had passed 
The milestone of her womanhood. 
And now with calloused feet she stood 
Upon this desert, like the last. 



SHADOWLIGHT. 



Her brother's brood had known her care, 
As teacher and as guardian, 
Since the pale reaper came to bear 
The burden that he found so wan; 
And in this care she found her rest. 
By blessing these she, too, was blessed, 
A foster mother to his nest. 

The Settler's elder daughter drew 

The bloom of her divine estate, 

A.0 good a rose as ever blew 

Within an early settler's gate; 

And yet at first you only saw 

A model form and modest face, 

And still I think her eyes would draw 

A second look, and lose no grace; 

And since she was so shy in speech. 

You well might wonder what strange 

power 
Had made her spice for every hour 
And yet so far above your reach. 

The younger daughter, free to S:how 
Her kitchen skill, and proud to feel 
Her new importance to the meal, 
Played like a shuttle to and fro ; 
But when beyond the sound of talk. 
She flung her song, and made her jest, 



26 SHADOWLIGHT. 

And mocked their sober-featured guest, 
And laughed at every awkward balk. 
She had but little care as yet. 
The Settlement, where she had met 
The merchant's daughter, and a few. 
And Fort, where men were dressed in 

blue, 
Was all of this wide world she knew; 
And yet she learned as much ol books 
As any farm-girl of her age. 
And she could wade the meadow brooks 
And still have health her heritage. 

The hiredman was quite complete. 

Erect and solid, scarcely neat, 

And six foot in his stocking feet; 

This man had been induced to flee 

His earh' home upon the Rhine. 

Yet on his cheek you still could see 

The color of his native wine; 

And he had gained another speech — 

Yet often was compelled to use 

Such figures as were in his reach. 

Though awkward as his wooden «hoes. 

As Rachel unto Jacob dear. 

So grew the Settler's rose to him. 

Yet, groping in a light so dim 

He could but find the unsought Leah: 



SHADOWLIGHT. 27 

But still he plowed and made the hay. 
And love still kept his labor strong. 
While everj' twelve-month seemed a day, 
And every harvest bat a song. 

One guest, a gaunt and dirty man, 
Had raven hair, and little eyes, 
A scar was on his cheek of tan 
And his scant beard had raven dyes; 
He kept the corner of the room. 
And half was hidden in the gloom, 
But still his hungry e^^es were bright 
And feasting, and they showed their 

light 
As glow-worms in a starless night. 
His furlough had been overspent 
Tn revelry and lawless bent 
Upon a neighboring settlement. 
But now, returning to the Fort, 
He knew the punishment that would 
Await his long-since due report, 
Yet would escape it if he could. 
Something mysterious hung about 
This fellow, whom his comrades shunned 
His promises were held in doubt, 
And, though in debt, was never dunned. 

The other was a flaxen guest. 



28 SHADOWLIGHT. 

With face as fair as Isabell, 
And ej^es that seemed to want to tell 
A cheerful countenance is best. 
But he had surely had enough 
Of evil fortune's kick and cuff 
To make him miserable and gruff; 
A child, he found an orphan's lot, 
Alone, neglected and forgot 
He struggled for a brighter spot; 
And when in manhood he had won 
A lovely maiden for his wife, 
She disappeared, and he undone 
Had wandei'ed in an aimless life; 
And then enlisting, he had fought 
With Harrison, and sapped the root 
Of British power, since but naught, 
And he had lost a faithful foot. 
And though he wished a life of ease 
He still maintained a soldier's port. 
And, never difficult to please. 
Of late was sutler at the Fort. 

And now he sat before the fire. 

His wooden foot was laid aside, 

He talked and laughed, nor seemed to 

tire — 
Although be surely grew much drier, 
Lentil the cellar jar was dried. 



SHADOTTLIGHT. ^219t 

And so a social evening passed, 
The Settler entertained thtm w-ell; 
He furnisked forth a good repast. 
And found a ni<erry tale to tell. 
But when the rain had ■ceased to fall. 
And in the clouds were rifts of blue. 
The}' mounted, biit reluctant all 
The}' bid the S-ettler's home adieu. 



-^-g^^-^ 



30 SHADOWLTGFHir. 

PART^HIRD. 

THE ORPHAN. 

The Settler's home again was songht^ 

At early rnornlng, b\^ Monroe; 

The boat, which lately oft had brough& 

Hira, rested in thf' eove below; 

And when lie reached ihe npland cleared, 

The wood-embowered home appeared. 

Tlie honse was built of logs hewn square^ 
And pointed with a decent care; 
Along the eaves ^he woodbine crept, 
Beside the wall a willow wept. 
Huge flag-stones lay before the doo]\ 
Rude ornaments the entrance bore. 
And o'ei- a window that was near 
Stood out the antleis of n deer. 
The honej^-bee possessed a home, 
Beneath the drooping willow's shade. 
And in a quaint and straw built dome 
Content its strange contrivance made. 
An empt}' barn not distant stood, 
Its walls were bnilt of solid wood; 
The covering of shakes was stout. 
And kept the common weather out; 
Upon the yard the unyoked team 
Was standing by the broken stream. 
And .-eemed of better days to dream. 



SHADOWLIGHT, ol 

The day was pressing on the night. 
M'hen yotino- Monio<3 beheld the sight, 
And still no sound within was heard, 
Ko sound without, save song of bird 
And nois3' old ir Chanticleer 
Rejoicing thai che light was near. 
A gable wind a', quaintlj^ made. 
That swung i.bove its oaken sill. 
Where noon 'ung in the \vinovv''s shade, 
Was now so air could come at will; 
The youth approached the vines amon£, 
And paused a moment ere he sung : 
1. 
The east is softly beaming. 
Late stars are faintlj" gleaming, 
M3' fond love is dreaming, 
Dreaming of me. 
II. 
The burdened breeze is sighing. 
And round the cottage dying, 
Where my love is lying 
Dreaming of me. 
III. 
Come, fairies bright, awake her, 
And to thy green haunts take her, 
Take her, then forsake her, 
Forsake her and me. 



^2 SSADOWLTGHT". 

IV. 

Ah-, brighter beams are breakin^^ 
Fair night her leave is taking, 
My fond love is waking, 
Waking for me. 

He cea«ecl to sing then down the glader 
iPassed, half in light and half in shade. 
Far in its dewj' depths he-fonnd 
A little spring, with rocks around ; 
It bubbled I'orth, where all was mossed. 
Then in the earth again was lost. 
He sat upon a humble mound, 
And mused and listened to its sound: 
Pale at his f«^et the cranesbill grew, 
From lack of sun and surplus dew. 
The wild rose had a faint perfume, 
And primroses would bloom till noon, 
And e'en the dark green nightshade drew 
A common and cadaverous hue; 
A gawdy moth from its cocoon 
Came slowly forth, its wings full soon 
Wouhl till, and bear its weight awaj', 
As canvas bears the ships from bay; 
The bat still spread its rubber wing 
Above that solitary spring; 
The hermit-thrush hero built her nest, 
And cuckoos loved this nook the best; 



SHADOW LIGHT. 33 

A thrifty t^rowth of trees stood round, 
And bittersweet and ivy bound: 
Among high limbs a grape-vine hung 
And made a swing that never swung; 
A noolv it seemed where one in gloom 
Alone might find congenial room; 
And, hapl}', oft in other hour, 
The Indian girl had sought this bower 
And to the great wise owl released 
Her secrets as a maid to priest. 

But soon from re very Monroe 

Was startled by a little doe. 

That down the glade, in quest of drink, 

Came boldly to the fountain's brink, 

And leisurely her need supplied, 

Then carefully the stranger eyed : 

Half satisfied, and half in fear. 

She browsed upon the herbage near, 

But when he rose and nearer came. 

For him she seemed but little tame. 

Monroe at last the dell forsook. 

His pathway toward the cottage lay, 

He heard the babble of the brook. 

And all the wood around was gay ; 

But when the clearing's edge drew near, 

A song's light music reached his ear: 



4 SHADOWLIGHT. 

I. 

1 have a lover, and he is true, 

Hio, hiol 
Hi.« lioui's of slumber are but few. 

Hio, hio, hiol 
But he is young and cannot wed. 
And 111}' betrothal has been said; 
But this he may not know; 
Turtle-dove, tell my love, no, no I 

11. 
Tht' l»ird ma}' build among the leave?. 

Mio, hio! 
The lover sing beneath the eaves, 

Hio, hio. hiol 
But vainly will he choose his mate 
If lie but come a day too late. 
But this he may not know, 
'i'urtle-dove, tell my love, no, no I 

III. 
Oh. whisper to him, winds — be kind: 

Hio, hio! 
And tell him some free maid to tind. 

Hio. hio. hiol 
For we ai-e young and cannot wed. 
And my betrothal has been said; 
But tliis he may not know; 
Tui-tle-dove. tell my love, no, no. no I 



SHADOWLKUIT. ;5-> 

To giitber tiowei-s, perchance, the maid 
Along' this woodhmd'.s marge had stray- 
ed: 

Her bonnet, fell behind her head. 
She plneked the blossom.«i, white and red : 
The snnbeams on her featni-es fell. 
And then her beauty did excel 
The blossoms that she loyed so well. 
He closer canio and made a jest. 
As if her meaning were not guessed, 
Theii asked if she would sing the rest; 
Aslfghtning- playing, red and white. 
I'^pon a fleecy cloud at night. 
So played her color for a while 
Upon the dimples of a smile; 
Bat when she sau' the little doe. 
That dogged th. footsteps of Monroe. 
She sought, with woman's wit. to draw 
His thoughts upon the thing she saw; 
And then she told of this lone doe 
Whose Orphan-master filled with woe, 
Would haunt the gloomj^ solitude. 
Or beg at sorest need his food. 

The Orphan was a w^itless hoy 
Belonging at the Settlement; 
But here had wandered to annov 



36 SHADOWLIGHT. 

With his unmeaning merriment; 

And while they lingered he appeared. 

Unclean and ragged, wild and weird; 

His hair was yellow as a sheaf. 

His slender arms were brown and bare, 

A nd his blue eyes bespoke their grief 

In language of a keen despair. 

He stood upon the brook-wet sand. 

A cudgel-bone was in his hand. 

With this he thumped upon his breast. 

And muttered some deformed request; 

Then, tripping by, he beat in time 

His heavy bone to some rude rhyme. 

When first was made that rhythmic beat, 

The little doe, with nimble feet. 

Secured position at his side. 

And galloped there with seeming pride. 

Within the border of the wood 
An ancient oak had some day stood, 
But when fierce tempests raged around 
Was fallen halfway to the ground. 
And there, upon a comrade's breast. 
Had found a comfortable rest. 
High up the Orphan found a seat. 
And swung below his naked feet. 
Then imitated with success 
The voices of the wilderness, 



SHADOWLIGHT. 



There jseemed to be the cuckoo's note. 
The owl, with his immodest throat. 
The plaintive call of wbip-poor-will, 
Robwhite, the weather-prophet still, 
The bittern's hiccough, and the cry 
Of loon, and then the far replj*: 
At last the eagle's scream he gave, : 
And all grew silent as the grave. 
Then by a vine swung down to earth, 
And in the wood revived his mirth. 

Now lightly from the cottage tripped 
The maiden Mabel, and a wealth 
Of hair was floating, and she dipped 
Her tongue in song,hercheeks in health; 
Before the two she hung her head. 
And her red flush grew still more red. 
And then she flung it off and said, 
"The Orphan spurned the food I gave. 
But of some loss ceased not to rave; 
The little doe came not to-daj\ 
In this, perhaps, his sorrow lay." 

Beside the margin of the stream 
They wended toward the cottage door; 
The waters passed in shade and gleam, 
The birds sang songs ne'er sung before, 
Or heard hj only such as these — 



SHADOWLIGHT. 



And those in hapi^iness above 
Where ni-e celesriMl melodies — 
But rliis was heaven bewuise oflove. 

Upon the highway of ,his lire. 
Amid the jostle and the strife. 
^Ve find companions as we walk — 
Thongh. haplj', l)nt an hour talk. 
Yet feel a sad and throl)l)ing heart. 
When at divei'giirg roads we part; 
And still looK backward as we go 
Up exevy liilldf joy oi- woe. 
And hope, ai cxcry c'-os<ing street. 
By fortnne gocul. again lo meet. 

As if she fain wonld meet no more, 
Soon Phebe left the cottage door. 
And songht the comfort that is found 
By eye and ear in life around; 
She gained a mossy seat beside 
The brook, which whispei-ed and replied. 
And tried, or thought slie wonhl forget. 
But ti-ying lost, and saw him yet. 

The :ipp]e gi-ows about the coi-e. 
So Phebe's lov(» grew on hei- heart, 
A'ld she was thoughtful evermoi'e. 
Because she knew they soon must part. 
For she i-ecalled her childhood daj'. 



siiaik)wij(;ht. .ivi 

She seemed at Xorwick far away. 
Her gentle mother at her side, 
Just as it seemed before she died; 
And she recalled the solemn nonr 
The mother pledged the daughters hand 
In marriage, and the two-fold power 
That held her in the dead's command; 
And then her father's loss of wealth. 
The creditoi'S, thf dark, dark days. 
The loss of home, then doubly felt. 
The westward journe}^ and the maze 
Of passage, and the dark, dark days; 
And she recalled the grassy grave 
Beneath the elm, where ebbed the wave 
Of life from one whom naught could save ; 
And pain was in her woman's heart. 
She closed her eyes ro shut out part 
And then she dreamed hei- sister stood 
Beside her, grown to womanhood; 
Who ill a gentle manner spake 
This fable, ere she dai-ed awake: 

Just 5''ester morn, as 1 among 

The garden walks had idly strayed. 

I heard a little bird that sung. 

And by that song another stayed — ' ' 

As lightiy b}' it oared its way — 

And came and lit upon the spray; ' ' 



40 SHADOWLIGHT. 

And then a tender talk was held. 
With courtesA' and varied voice. 
Until by love they seemed conipelled. 
Methonght. to make the happy choice; 
They Hew awaj^ the vines among. 
To uild a nest and rear their young; 
And now I mark them at their toil. 
As to and fro, with cheerj' song. 
They flit, with bits of straw and soil. 
To frame the hollow d»velling strong. 
They knew no other law than love! 
But if they had. think 5'^on a note 
Of song, in that bent tree aoove, 
Would ever All contented throat? 

She started, and beside her stood 

Her sister, scarce in maidenhood. 

And Mabel, wise above her year 

Efssayed. and tenderly, to cheer 

Her elder sister, pointing out 

The common things she saw about: 

His slender lances golden day 

Flung on the world that round them lay, 

A-quiver in its haze of gra}-; 

White clouds in fleets went sailing by. 

Upon the ocean of the sky; 

A pair of hawks careered and lew, 

In trackless circles toward the blue. 



SHADOWLIGHT. 41 

TTiitil thej' wearied down the view; 
A flock of terns, uncouth and slight, 
Were wheeling in a noisy flight. 
And waging war upon a brood 
Of gaudy insects for their food; 
A stately basswood, by the brook, 
Its many pendent clusters shook, 
As priest, the laymen on their knees, 
It sprinkled round the humble trees 
With blossoms falling in each breeze, 
The brook beside them softly sung, * 
The breeze anew its harp had strung 
And ever}' tree-top had a tongue. 

Ah. Traveler, thou hath breathed a sigh. 
And grown impatient at this stay, 
I mark it in thy wandering eye, 
And in thy inattentive way. 
What dost thou S'dj? thou feareth rain 
From yonder cloud that climbs the sky; 
And that it has not been in vain 
Thou rested, as thou wanderdst by? 
But must thou journey forth so soon 
Upon the highway, hard and hot? 
The day has scarcely reached its noon. 
And yonder vales have been forgot, 
But part we as we must; this dell 
Shall gladden others; now, farewell! 



42 SHADOWLIGHT. 



SECOND DAY. 



THE SETTLEMENT. 

''Well, Poet, I have come aoain. 

To hear thy story to the end. 

When, yesterday, T took iiiy load, 

To seek the hard and dusty road 

Forever thronged hy worldlj^ men, 

I ^eft thee rudely in the glen; 

But soon I thought ahout a friend 

] had in youth, who, often crossed, 

Was never prized till he was lost; 

And so thy story came to seem 

Like something lost, to haunt my dream ; 

And with the coming of the day, 

I could not take my onward waj^. 

But came where I had left thee late, 

To listen if thou wouldst relate.'' 

'*! still have mine one leisure day. 
To wile some traveler's care away; 
And since thou turnest from the road. 
Thou mayest follow while I guide 
To haunts that have not yet been tried, 
And where thou shouldst forget thy 
load." 



SIIADOWLIGHT. 43 

1 or)ce stood on :i grass}' swell, 
And marked the prairie stretch away. 
With surface lines that rose and fell, 
Until they touched the bounds of day; 
A river here its silver showed, 
A yet unused commercial road; 
Along its banks, from birth illstarred. 
The bold and frowning bluffs kept guard, 
Save where the widening bottom-land 
Held up its stuntefl growth of trees. 
Or where the marsh, on either hand, 
Brewed fogs to cast upon the breeze. 
I pressed the home of antelope. 
The native haunt of wolf and deer, 
And bison squadrons on this slope 
Had some day wheeled in full career. 
I stood and gazed then turned away, 
From the unbroken solitude. 
But came again, another day, 
With lighter heart and better mood, 
And in the valley, nestled down, 
There waiting found a thrifty town. 

These foremost outposts on our soil 
Draw active blood from all the land. 
Men filled with heart, and free to toil, 
Take homes with an unfaltering band. 
Xew England's Puritanic stock 



44 SHADOWLIGHT. 

Erected dwellings on the Rock: 

And from the northern woods and 

streams, 
From cold Canadian shores they came 
To this far spot of hopes and dreams, 
This paradise of soil and game; 
The South, from swamp and everglade. 
Sent up its firy element. 
Ere yet the corner-stone was laj'Cd 
In this far western settlement. 

Two streets were in this frontier town; 
The one its followers would take. 
O'er broken uplands, tilting down 
To that fai' cit}' on the lake — 
A post-route where each week was 

donned 
The habit of the world beyond; 
The other called the river-road, 
Wound northward through the wild 

deer's court. 
By miles of meadows, jet unmown. 
And flats, by timber overgrown. 
Then crossing at the ford, where showed 
The islands, ended at the Fort. 
Upon the junction of these routes 
The settlers had built up their town, 
And never yet had voiced their doubts 



SHADOWLTGHT, 4.0 

That coinnierce would withhold its 
crown. 

Here stood the tavern, rudely made, 
A temporarj^ work at tirst. 
Yet, still unchanged and rude it stayed, 
The haunt ot hunger and of thirst; 
And now and then a covered wane. 
With red-faced weary emigrants, 
Would seek its shelter, not in vain. 
And swell the town's inhabitants. 
The single store across the street 
Was ample size and passing neat. 
The merchant's cheek with color glowed. 
And always dimpled when Le showed 
His meager stock, for other's sake 
But latel}^ hauled o'er miles of road, 
From that far city on the lake. 
Through his clean windows you could 

see 
The humble shop across the way, 
Where toiled the blacksmith, day by 

day. 
For men as brown and strong as he; 
Each found contentment and delight. 
With difference of toil forgot; 
Each strove with undivided might. 
And envied not another's lot. 



46 SHADOWLIGHT. 

Upon another corner stood 

The shoeshop of a bachelor 

(A man nithont a monitoi', 

And wanting if in balance weighed); 

Six days he haonfed stream and wood., 

And on the seventh plied tiis trade; 

He seemed as gay as could be found 

In any of the homes around. 

Still, rnmor said he had his wound; 

And though a tavern-keeper's gnest, 

Best loved was he where known the best. 

The houses of the citizens. 
About this nucleus arrayed. 
Showed thrift, and incompleted plans. 
And work on others yet unmade. 

Beside the blufls, that stood alone 
Upon the river-bank, where stone 
AVere quarried, and are quarried still. 
Was built the rough walled, flat roofed 

mill. 
The miller, with his po\^^dered be^rd. 
Kept at his task, of late endeared, 
Because the growing fields of maze 
Bespoke supplies and better days. 
A ruder structure, built below 
Upon the stream's more rapid flow. 



SHADOWLTGHT. 47 

Fluno- back the river's constant roar. 
But kept the veil of mist it wore; 
Here skids of logs, in winter drawn 
By white-horned oxen, from the belt 
Of timber on whose edge they dwelt. 
Were ever wailing to be sawn; 
The workman's form was somewhat bent, 
But still his da}^ was half unspent, 
And toiling here he seemed content; 
While idle children of the town 
Would often come to hear the gnaw 
Of his sharp-toothed and hungry saw. 
And watch the sawdust sifting down. 

Within the border of tLe wood. 

And jnst beyond the Settlement, 

A prosperous mission once had stood. 

And still on being seemed intent. 

In days historic, many a year 

Before the birth of either here, 

A man who deemed all pleasure dross. 

Had come to teach the dusky race 

The simple story of the cross, 

And show the narrow way to grace; 

Like one who stands in holy writ 

He died his foes to benefit; 

And then another quickly came, 

Commissioned in his Father's name. 



48 SHADOWLIGHT. 

To take away the ancient mask. 
But he, too, perished at his task ; 
Another s-till in turn appeared. 
And labored on until at last, 
By ho\j deeds and life endeared. 
He held his little handful fast; 
And he had built, as best he could, 
The little mission by the wood; 
But as the day is wont to crowd 
Upon the slowlj^-going night. 
So had a race, clear-eyed, fair browed. 
Crowded the native from his sight; 
But he had stayed to serve the race 
Of his own color and his grace; 
And on a Sabbath you could see 
The people kneeling in his door. 
And children daily at his knee 
Beceived their elemental lore. 

The day in June of which we speak 
Had scarcely shown its color-streak 
When Page, the bachelor, intent 
On angling, his shallow bark 
Had guide 1 o'er the waters dark, 
A mile above the Settlement; 
But here, beside the wooded bank 
Through which a tributary moves 
Its burden through its delta groves. 



SHADOWLIGHT. 4» 

His heavy oar no longer drank. 
O'er head a group of lindens cast 
A brigde of shadows frotn the silt. 
Across the river to the grass. 
Removed each daj\ each morn rebuilt 
Abovethis famous haqnt of bass» 
The fisher dropped, his tempting bait, 
And hope and patience wed to wait 
The lazy stroke of fin or gleam . » 
Through the dark silence of the stream; 
His minnow for a moment plied, 
By hidden foes intently eyed, 
And then within the depth below 
Was seen the charge of swarthy tnail^ 
The bent rod swaying to and fro, 
The plying line, the feints that fail, 
Th^-^tifld6n rush where lilies grow, 
UiitiK es^haustfed- and afloat, 
The prize wa^ lifted in the boat. 
Ha, ha, AVell done! for well it playiedj 
Ko mattei' hbw it looked or weighed. 

The fisher smiled again to cast 

A bait more tempting than the last, 

Again his puffed and twitching eyes 

Were greeted with an armored prize; 

But suddenly he he^ird thesound 

Of feet that fleetjly pressed the ground, 



tO SHADOWLI6HT. 

And peering through the leafy screen 

He saw, upon a neighboring green, 

A band whose plumes betrayed its quest. 

And horrid trophies told the rest. 

The chief dismounting climed the blufi^ 

From which the quiet town below 

Was seen and measured well enough 

To guide the meditated blow; 

The Indian, having gained this view, . 

Beturned belmv and all withdre^v. 

When Page returned and brought th^ 

word 
That foes wer^ gathering there about, 
The Settlement was deeply stirred, 
And flags of warning were hung out; 
And soon the frightened people roiind 
Were hastening to the threatened towa; 
While many stood aghast to hear , 
That such fell danger hovered near* 
And others counseled instant flight,. 
To Fort, before the coming night 
Could bring them hidden foes to fight; 
But Page, a more determined man, 
And sell-appointed champion, 
Among the frightened people moved^ 
Cheering, rebuking useless fright. 
But safety for the old approved; j 



SHADOWLIGHT. 51 

Then, pointing to the homes in sight, 
He bid them stand and boldlj^ fight 
.For self and fair possessions here, 
Fior home and all they held most dear; 
His earnest deeds at last prevailed 
Where earnest words at first had failed; 
Within the mill, apart and lone, 
With walls that stood erect and bold, 
And builded of the qiiarrj'^ stone. 
Were gathered all the young and old; 
And then a messenger was sent, 
By fleetest passage to the Fort, 
To ask protecciqn, or support. 
Because of these on mischief bent; 
And arms were brought, and guards 

were set. 
And earnest men crept forth to scout 
The valleys and the woods about. 
To find a foe of late unmet. 

.This day the pioneer, who dwelt 
Above beside the shallow ford, , 
Had come unwittinglv below. 
Accompanied by young Monroe ; 
But when he learned of this he felt 

-Concern for those his heart adored; 
And warned by many a word well meant, 
In haste soon quit the Settlement. 



SHADOWLIGHT. 



Fol" miany mile? tbey kept ialong 

The river on the bottom-land. 

The birds that sang had lost thdlr song, 

Thie water-fowls dreanaed oh' the sand, 

The deer swept by, and unpiirsued " 

Was lost within thei solitude. 

And every soUud, from ^ale or hill, ' 

Seemed only omnioU& of ill. 

At last they left the path to gaze 

Upon the prairie, wrapped in haze. ' 

And there beheld a band of men ^ 

That moved along a broken glen. 

And marked them foes, who had beside 

Two captives on fleet horses tied. 

Two captive maids, and one unbound 

And dropped a scarf tipon the grOund ; 

And soon, beyond a tree-clad hight. 

The captives disappeared from sight. 

The Pioneer and young Monroe, 
In passing, saw the bright scarf's flame. 
And turned upon it there below; 
They found Upon it Phebe's name; ^ 
A speechless moment each one took 
The meaning of the other's look, ' 
Then turned away^ with strength re- 
newed. If.. 
And eagerly the trail pursued. - 



SHADOWLIGHT. 53 

The traveler-sun, within the west, 
Had pitched his tent, and sunk to rest • 
Upon his couch but lately spread 
With gold and gray and royal red, 
Before the fleet pursuers found 
The captors at their camping ground; 
But here they yet awhile delayed, 
Until the coming night had made 
A deeper and a tienser shade; 
Acid \vhile they hid they Could but mark 
The slow arrival of the dark. 
The sky seemed like a waveless sea. 
In which the broken Clouds, in shoals. 
Were moving westward eagerly. 
Upon their course between the poles ; 
And now and then the low-browed mobri. 
Flung looks of light upon the wood, 
Which, like a sable maid, would soon 
Smile up, and then draw back its hood ; 
The night-fogs bleached their mastless 

sails 
Upon the level of the lake, 
And, from the naahy darksome dalies. 
Mysterious souads would sometimes 

break; 
And strange birds wheeled above their 

heads. 
And muttered some prophetic cry. 



54 SHADOWLIGHT. 

Then plunged beneath the leafy sheds ' 
Thait arched between the earth and sky. 

There is a hill whieh guards a glade 

Where superstiUous rites were pnid; 

And this they cli m bed , an d sa w.belo w 

The camp-fire of their dusky foe. 

And one lone wigwam which >yas made 

To hold the prizes of the raid; , 

They marked the place to strike,and then 

Crept back unnotiped to the glen ; 

And groped a dark and dangerous rood, 

To find the cavern by the wood ; 

Where they could rest, and plan, and 

: , wait, ;. ' - ., ■ 

Till sleep should, seal the rHidersVfate. 

While these were hid,den in the cave, 
/JDhe captors met in council grave; 
T|ie chief was therp, with stately air, 
A painted face, and tufted hair; 
About his tawny breast he drew , , 
A blanket of a soH^ber hue. 
And moccasins adornecj his feet, 
And beaded leggins, gay and iieat« 
Beside the chief his second sat. 
Broad-faced, long haired, lynx-eyed and 
fat;.:, ._; .,.. ,, . ■,' . ^.^ . ; , v^ 



SHADOWLIGHT. 55 

Within hie band a hollow bone 
Which ever whispered the unknown ; 
AU past events^ the present hour, 
And future in its magic power; 
It told of war, of it)ve, and hate. 
And every, fallen warrior's fate; 
All Remedies that heal the sick. 
And tnany a play, and many a trick; 
Such corn to plant no frost qpuld nip, 
And where the fisher's net to dip; 
In short, all things mysterious known 
Were gi^^en through thi& ttiagic bone. 

An evil and discordant sprjght. 
Was at the: council-fire t^at: night ; 
For some, since war was not declared, 
Maintained the captives shionld be spai*ed 
To hold Jh barter, or for gold; 
While sojne. more cruel or more bold, 
With fagotv/tomahawk, or knife. , 
Were anxi^^'us for tlie captive life. j , 
At last, witli. foolish rites eompli^te,; 
The Second slowly gained his feet,; 
And said, "I saw in dream last night 
The tortuffe that awaits the white, if 
For we shall sweep away the stock, 
And gaiii our cornfields oh the Eock ; r 
Then, ntimerous gamie shalkdoine again, 



56 shadowlight; 

The bison shake his shaggy mane. 
The fat deer haiiiit the grassy lake, d '' 
The wild goose hide among the brake. 
The bear regain his empty den. 
The fleet wolf gallop through the fen, i 
And greater fields of coi-u shall grow, 
Our wives more faithful with the hoe, 
And villages' vvithiii: our bounds ' 

Shall be as fuir as beaver towns— r" 

His speech was interrupted here, ,, .J 
For now aril >^e4jV painted brave , ;, 

Who muttered at the council ear. 
Of foes secreted 4Jlii{;the cave. 
There was a sufertjebing of the bow. 
Of ax and war-i-elilib for the foB; 
A bustle for a moment, then 
The empty camp was still again. 
Empty? No — the Second stood 
As if he had been carved of wood; 
And for a moment from his bone 
Heard whisperings from the unknown, 
And his dark eyes with passion shown. 

While yet his; dark, thoughts firmly 

bound. 
The Orphan suddenly appeared. 
His naked feet made little sound 



SHADOWLIGHT. 57 

As this lone sentinel he neared; 
He raised and swung his heavy bone. 
With man-like strength above his head. 
The Second on the earth laj^ prone, 
And none might speak him quick or 

dead ; 
The Orphan laughed and danced in glee 
Above the bod}^ of his foe, 
And at his side right merrily- 
Danced at his bid the little doe; 
But nhen his whim was satisfied. 
His helpless enemy he eyed; 
Then turned, and struck the captives" 

bands. 
And made quick gestures with his hands 
While leading forth; the night's soft 

cloak 
Fell on them, and no word was spoke; 
While silence sat a heavy weight 
Upon the camp all desolate. 

About the cave the dusky band 

Had gathered, needing not command; 

The leader stooped the entrance through, 

Close followed by a chosen few; 

A winding passage, growing less. 

They followed to a deep recess. 

And hesitated in the gloom, 



58 SHADOWLIGHT. 

Then rushed within the cave's wide 

room. 
Kow, recent rains had made a por<^ — 
Like secret postern in a fort — 
Through which the two had made es- 
cape 
Ere yet was in a hostile shape; 
Some guards that had been left without 
l!s^ow found the port and entered there. 
They made a dash, and gave a shout, 
And held their torches high in air, 
But these surprised supposed them foes. 
And dealt them many bloody blows. 
Before they ascertained with grief, 
That they had kinsmanship in chief. 

Meantime the Settler and Monroe 
Had gained the now deserted camp. 
They found the Second lying low, 
His body with his blood was damp; 
They also found the severed bands 
That lately held the captives' hands, 
At which they darted from the light. 
To disappear in friendly night. 



SHADOWLIGHT. 59 



PART SECOND. 

THE COUNCIL. 

Upon the Fort again the sun 
Flung down his coat, of saffron spun, 
The weary sentinel's watch was done; 
Recruits were here from near and far, 
Made soldiers by the sound of war; 
The forge gave some, and some the plow. 
With stain of toil still on the brow; 
And some in Indian warfare long 
Had used the arms now skilled and 

strong. 
From far Detroit here came McKrame, 
For pastime, or perchance for fame; 
A hundred men who Proctor fought. 
Enthusiasm with him brought; 
And there was Wood, who had been tried 
On the Maumee, and fought beside 
Mad Anthony : three hundred rangers 
Kept the rank and shared his dangers; 
And old Kentucky's pride was there — 
For unforgot a small aftair 
On Eaisin's banks — their leader Gray 
Still bore some scars of that dark day: 
A little badge each horseman wore. 
To call to mind that scene of gore; 



60 SHADOWLIGHT. 

And Jackson's veterans, schooled in fight 
Against the Creeks, that day and Jiight 
Had ridden fifty miles or so. 
To grapple with their old-time foe. 

Long was the hunt, and shr. wd the flight. 
Sudden and brief the blow and fight; 
Now forced from low or wild retreat. 
Where tiodden mire showed naked feet; 
Now broken from the scanty meal. 
Within the tangle of a wood. 
And goaded by relentJess steel, 
To often stained with helpless blood; 
The prairie showed the new-made trail. 
The river bore the stealthy bark. 
Gaunt hunger made bold ventures fail. 
And many a death-fire lit the dark; 
Raiding, retreating, ever bold. 
Yet driven on from hold to hold, 
Till on the wild Wisconsin's banks 
The scattered force drew up its ranks: 
Here fianked by fields of oak and pine. 
The dusky warrior fixed his line. 
A fiag-of-truce now met the foe. 
To pray a council might convene, 
Upon the grassy plain below, 
Which lay the hostile lines between. 
Here came three soldiers, tried and good, 



SIIADOWIJOIIT. 01 

Who for the broken treaty stood; 
Their foes sent three to meet them there. 
And keep their people's cause with care; 
The pipe of peace the circuit made, 
The stately chief then rose and said: 

FIRST SrEECH. 

The heart of Black Hawk has no ease; 
His sighs are winds among the trees; 
His tears the dew: the buffalo 
That to their former pastures go 
Are teased by wolves; they howl at 

night, 
By day we see them from the hight; 
But Black Hawk now lays bare his 

heart; 
Behold it, and the poisoned dart 
That hurts him I he is forced to fight 
For what has always been his right, 
Or lose it, and all white men know- 
That Black Hawk would not be their 

foe. 

These prairies wide, these forests dense, 
Were once his home, alive with game. 
And all was his: the white man came. 
And cheated him, and drove him hence; 
And now the badger's winding caves 



&2 SHADOWLIGHT. 

Are dug among his fathers' graves, 
And no one moves to scare her thence. 

But Black Hawk is an oak, firm, tall, 
With giant limbs, all brown and long. 
And at his foot are saplings strong. 
But where he flourished he must fall; 
While these shall grow and take his 

place. 
In wai', if need be. and the chase — 
But war is thinning out the race! 
While you are like the leaves of spring. 
The autumn we, frost-nipped, falling. 

They were not chiefs who sold his lands. 

Their treaty, therefore, has no bands: 

Bej^ond the river over there 

The lands are poor, and need much care 

To grow the seed, and jealousy 

Is in each neighbor's watchful eye ; 

ISTo deer, no corn ; he comes again 

To plant upon the fertile plain 

That bounds the Rock. Who says he 

sought 
For war with you ? Has he not brought 
The wives and children with their hoes ? 
The cunning badger when she goes 
To hunt, takes not her tender whelps; 



SHADOWLTGHT. 63 

And lyino- tongues are hiirtfnl helps 
To peace. 

The Father said a foe 
To the white flag would always show 
A sober face; where are the braves 
Who bore it scarce a moon ago? 
Their blood makes answer from their 

graves 
And bids me be the white man's foe! 
But Black Hawk's teart beats warmly 

for 
His people; he a hasty war 
Against the numerous whites would 

shun; 
But is he not a man, and one 
To hate the wrong? Can he not see, 
And taste, and feel, and think, like thee? 

But still he loves his home, the shade 
And pleasant sunshine where he plaj^ed, 
The spot where first he met the maid 
That grinds his corn; the reedy stream 
That echoes to the wild-bird's scream ; 
The grassj^ lake where first he swam ; 
]ts outlet, with the beaver-dam 
Beside the salt deer-lick, its grove 
Where browse the bucks, and plains 



64 SHADOWLIGHT. 

where love 
The antelope and bnftalo. 
But Black Hawk"? heart is full; his word 
Avails as far-oft call unheard; 
His hope is sinking as thn sun; 
His tongue grows stiff; Black Hawk is 

done. 

Soft words, ye are the magic key 
That doth urdock the human heart. 
And from its prison-house set free 
A spirit tender as thou art. 



Ye seek not war again ye su,y; 
Then why are ye come here to-day ? 
Ye simplj^ wish to take the land 
That years ago your tribe possessed. 
But hold we it with honest hand. 
And ye are c^nne unwelcome guest. 
Xow, tell me; can one sell at will 
His favorite horse and ride it still? 
Or can he eat the seed-corn string. 
And hope to plant it in the spring'? 
Why keep ye not the treaty then? 
Are we but children, and not men. 
To play at plurastone, but to trade 
Back profit that the game has made? 



SHADOWLIGHT. 



That you might be well satisfied 

We asked j^oiir chiefs to see the lands, 

Beyond the Mississippi's tide, 

TiiMt we wonld give into your hands; 

They went and roamed the field and 

wood, 
And with one voice pronounced them 

good ; 
The antelope was there as here. 
As trim and nimble was the deer, 
The logy bear was just as fat. 
The wild goose nested on the flat. 
The bhfialo would come to rove 
In manj'" a brown and lengthened drove, 
The rivers were as deep and wide, 
The forest shade was dens.e and dark. 
Unnumbered lakes, with fish supplied. 
Were waiting for your birchen bark, 
l!^ow have the rivers ceased to flow? 
Do trees no more their shadows throvv ? 
Or has the brown herd come to dwell 
Beside the white man and his plow. 
That thus the red man bids farewell 
To his new home, and breaks his vow ? 

Or were these aged chiefs deceived 
Who thought it best the white and red 
Should dvt^ell apart, and most were 



SHADOWLIGHT. 



grieved 
For those still quick, and not fhe dead? 
They saw their young men as they grew 
Go dovvn the paths bad men pursue, 
'No longer strong and brave and true; 
Ye were becoming fast to be 
The jest of every enemj^; 
Your cribs were empty, and 5'Our braves 
Were dropping in untimelj'' graves; 
No hand the field to cultivate. 
No heart but was disconsolate; 
Your prophets and your wise-men knew, 
If you remained vour daj'S were few; 
And so with one accord they sought 
To sell the meadows we have bought. 
Is Black Hawk wiser now than the}' — 
These thoughtful men whose heads were 

graj^ ? 

Were they not chiefs who sold these 

lands? 
We did not work with hidden hands; ' 
We called a council, and who would 
Within that treatj'-council stood; 
You said, ''The white man loves the 

town, 
The wooden house, and smiling looks; 
He has a beard, and wears a gown, 



SMADOWLIGHT. 



And lives contented with his books. 
The red man loves the forest wide, 
The wio-wam, by the river side, 
The gaud}^ di-ess, and painted face, 
The legend at the camping place; 
'Tis better that we dwell apart, 
Bny you our lands and we dei)art.*' 

Be not deceived! we cannot sit 
While red men drive our settlers back, 
And see the flames that those have lit. 
While these have blood upon their track : 
W^ithdraw forthwith thy lawless band, 
And leave forever lake and land; 
And let each brave who bears at side 
A trophy by the law be tried; 
Do this, or ere another sun 
Thy punishment shall be begun. 

The speaker here his seat resumed; 
The Second rose, bead-decked and 

plumed; 
His wounds gave pain; his teeth were 

set; 
The bone his ear one moment met; 
He dashed it then upon the green, 
And spoke with gestures wild between. 
'*I hate the white man I hate his ways; 
His books, his houses, and the days 



SHADOWLIGHT. 



That he still lives! He comes among 
Us with his lying eyes and tongue: 
He smiles, and cheats us of our lands; 
I hate him ! when he shakes ©ur hands 
It is the serpent's poisonous touch; 
The red man's Father bids me sweep 
Him from my path, before I sleep; 
1 heed his voice; so perish such!" 
He snatched a dagger from his breast, 
Where it had held a hidden rest, 
And hurled it swiftly at his foe; 
Ah, that had been a mortal blow. 
Had not a brave and skillful arm 
Parried the approaching harm ; 
Above the hilt the weapon keen. 
Beyond was buried in the green; 
The council broke, and then anew 
The musket flashed, the arrow flew. 

An eagle by the rocky stream 
That sent to w^ar an answering scream, 
And mounted in the summer blue. 
Beheld below a varied view: 
The setting sun his web had wove, 
Upon the prairie and the grove. 
The river tracked its winding wa,y 
From hills beneath the distant gray. 
Here silvered by the setting light. 



SIIABOWLTGIIT, 09 

There sluidod by some rocky liighr, 
While forests made ^ varied sci-een 
AJoiig the banlvS of growing green; 
Par toward the doorway of the day 
Two parallel upheavals lay. 
And guided by their grass}' pale 
A little brook ci^pt through the vale. 
But where it joined the river's tide 
A waste of woods was on its side: 
Upon the bluffs each hostile crew 
Was massed within the other's viewi 
Between, the council had been made, 
Within a single leafj^ shade. 

A hearty will each force displayed 
To give its cause and leader aid: 
The Indian, with his painted host, 
Along the wooded stream took post; 
A band of brave militia-men 
Bore down upon him through the glen; 
And orderly the veteran horse 
Upon the right arrayed its force; 
And riflemen upon the left 
Possessed each friendly rock and cleft, 
Soon flint-lock flashed, and saber rung. 
The bow.string twanged, the warclub 

swung. 
And many a flle of hardj^ men 



TO SHADOWLIGHT. 

Swept boldly through the tangled glen 
Upon M hidden foe, and thten 
A clash, a rally, and there came 
Less numbers back, b-ut not less tame. 

Black Hawk was brave: each charge he 

stood 
With characteristic hardihood; 
And everywhere his thrilling shout 
Above the battle-din rang out; 
And everywhere his presence drew 
The many on and cheered the few. 

The day was closing when the fight 
First stormed the valle}^ and the bight; 
And soon the mantle of the dark 
Fell down upon the little glen. 
Where moved the horse and riflemen. 
Above the wounded and the stark; 
But hope was firm in every.one 
That ere could sink another sun 
The dusky band would be undone; 
But on that night the Indian oar 
Did rapid work from shore to shore. 
And when the day again arose 
A river rolled between the foes. 



S II ADOAV LIGHT, 



PART THIRD^ 

A STRANGE PIONEER. 

Xow come with me and see the spot 
Where an eccentric built his cot; 
Above the botton-lam.!, where sweeps 
The rapid river on its course. 
Far out upon the prairie creeps 
A watei-waj', worn out bj' force; 
"•Tis many a year since first the drouth 
Sucked up its inland fountains dry, 
A grassy vallej', winding south, 
Now leads awaj- the traveler's eye; 
H'.'rein, beneath its rocky side. 
An early settler built his home, 
]t seemed as if be fain would hide 
The hearth-stone where he dwelt alone. 
Within tiie journey of a day 
Already stood the Settlement. 
But nearer yet the mission laj- 
Though he w^ould shun it when he went. 
Here fearing not. he dwelt unfeared. 
At peace with all men. white and red; 
Upon his face he wore no beard, 
And Avhen his speech was heard 'twas 
said 



72 SHADOWLIGHT. 

That it tvas soft ancT wondrous choice. 
And sounded like ;i womnu's voice. 

The morning inist wivs^ on the streanrv, 
And spreading o'er the marshes low, 
When softly, in the pale light's beam, 
Close followed bj- his little doe. 
The Orphan neared the ledge of stone 
Wherj this eccentric dwelt alone; 
In silence there awhile he stood. 
His form was outlined on the wood, 
And then his eye ran up the vale, 
And o'er the rolling stretch beyond; 
Wild was hisTook, his face was pale,. 
His cudgel-bone waved like a wand; 
Then shaking long and yellow locks. 
He picked his way among the rocks, 
To reach the passable descent 
That led him to the cot below, 
His feet were naked as he went. 
His naked arras swung to and fro. 
But when he pressed nydr the door. 
The settler's tierce and watchful hounrJ 
Bayed at him with a sudden bound. 
And snapped its fury in his face; 
The Orphan swung the bone he bore. 
And for a moment kept his place; 
And when the fierce dog tore his clothes 



SHADOWLIGHT. 73 

He dealt such sure and heavj^ blows 
That helpless on the earth it fell, 
And all the valley heard Its yell; 
Then merrily the Orphan danced 
About the bi-uised and dying hound, 
And shyly, as he laughed and glanced, 
The little doe beside him pranced 
About upon the rocky ground. 

While this went on, the cr-ptive maids 
Forsook the near and friendly shades, 
Appearing on the rocky slope, 
But pausing oft in fear and hope, 
Xot knowing whether friend or foe 
Awaited in the vale below. 
At this the Orphan ceased his mirth. 
And turned his victim on the earth, 
Then, with the heavy bone he bore, 
He pointed to the cottage door; 
He moved away as this thej'^ neared. 
And down the valley disappeared. 

The maidens, weary with the flight 
Of that ill-cared, eventful night. 
Flung wide the dwelling to the light; 
A sound was heard, like pain imeased. 
As when weak life and watchful death 
Are waiting for the final breath 



74 SHADOWLIGHT. 

Of some one wounded or diseased ; 
They entered, and upon the bed. 
With garments wet and dripping red. 
With weapons still within his reach. 
The pale man stretched his helpless 

length, 
Bereft of vision and of speech. 
Bereft of comfort and of Strength. 

A hurried glance about the room, 

Xow partly re^-cued from its gloom, 

Revealed a well-kept, tidj^ place. 

As if it caught its rustic grace 

From woman's hand; a clean retreat 

For huntresses in summers heat; 

And one might ?ay that such were these, 

So pale was he, as if disease 

Had wasted him. ^nd they bore mark 

Of woodland tangle and the dark. 

Kind heaven has given u> gentle hands 
For ministery; to stanch the wound. 
To cool the fevered tongue and head. 
And bring soft words, and loose the bands 
Of suHering. — thef^e to this bed 
Were given as the^^honrs went round. 
The maids, forsaken by their guide. 
And weary with the toils of night. 



SHADOWLIGIiT. 



Ooiilcl now but linger ;it his side, 
And minister unto his plight. 
But many a time that lonely day 
Inquiring eyes went wandering, 
Xow, down the valley's narrow way, 
Where moved the river, following 
Its winding course among the trees. 
Now, up the valley, where with ease 
The foot can gain the higher, land. 
Where stretch the fields on either hand — 
Far prairies, pathless as the seas. 
The elder sister, going forth. 
Once gained a more commanding swell. 
From which the mission, to the north, 
Revealed its outlines, passing well. 
So, when she reached the cot again. 
Her features showed a sudden light. 
From which the sick man guessed ariglit. 
That they might leave him in his pain, 
And hasten on their homeward flight; 
At this he begged ihem not to go 
And leave him in his dying throe; 
And then he said, mid falling tears. 
Except his wounds, except his years, 
That more alike than seen or guessed 
Were they and this one, hunter-dressed. 

Already through his wandering thought 



7(3 SHADOWLIGHT. 

And scattered words the two had caught 
A little of the circumstance 
That stretched him there bj' fate or 
chance. 

Kot knowing of the dusky band. 
That was marauding in the land. 
Just yesterday, at early dawn, 
Adown the stream this man had gone. 
To strike the deer, beside the brink 
Among the grasses green and lush. 
Or standing knee-deep in the slush. 
Or bending daintilj' to drink; 
While thus exposed a single foe 
Had maiked him as he floated by, 
And sent the shaft that laid him low; 
But this one paid that debt of pain, 
And lived to reach his home again. 
iSTow, calling Phebe to his side. 
He strove to give, with failing breath, 
The outlines of his histor}^; 
He gained her promise ere he died. 
That this a secret yet would be. 
While he was lying cold in death; 
He asked her first if she had known 
Of love, then took the blushes shown 
And asked no more, but told in brief 
The story of a true-love grief; 



SIIALKJWLIGHT. 7/ 

He spoke of ehiklhoocrs jojs &oine\vhat. 

Of parents* care, not j'et for«^or, 

A lover fail- and doubtless true, 

A maiden true and doubtless fair, 

A lover false and cruel too, 

A maiden brooding in despair; 

Until at last with wish to shun 

Her human kind, this one undone 

Had wandered thronoh the >vorkrs 

wide gate. 
And built this cot, resolved to wait. 
Unknown, unknowing, and unsexed, 
The call from this death to the next. 
And Phebe. pitying the plight 
Of this grsiy huntress, lying there, 
Bent down and stroked aside the hair. 
And pressed the forehead, cold and 

white ; 
The pause was biief, then Phebe said, 
"Hast thou not heard of him these years; 
Oi- has he been as one forgot?"' 
'•Forgot! he cannot be forgot. 
Until this wounded heart is dead I 
But I have long since dried my tears." 
And waiting there the maiden's thought 
Was fleet because of this one's grief, 
Because of woe without relief. 
The ruin that true-love had wrought; 



78 SHADOWLIGHT. 

And while she imised the huntress lay 
With blue lids shutting out the day. 
And easy came her breath and light. 
As in soft slumbers ot the night. 

The day wore on; the watchers kept 
Their silence while the wounded slept; 
The sun had climbed the airy bridge 
That arched above this narrow gorge. 
And now behind the western ridge 
Was lighting up his mighty forge; 
A single fleecj^ cloud overhead 
Seemed anchored all the afternoon, 
As if a ship, with ready sail. 
That bore some mark of former gale, 
Would take the spirit of the dead 
And journey heavenward with it sooh; 
The whispering of the wind had ceased. 
Its soft caresses now decreased, 
As if it feared that she might take 
The passage if she should awake. 
But just before the twilight gloom 
Had dimmed the brightness of the room. 
The sleeper tilled her failing eyes 
With sudden light, as of surprise ; 
They wandered round the narrow place, 
And fell at last on Phebe's face. 
And then she said, ''I had a dream ; 



•SHADOWLTCrHT. /!> 

It was so ?ti-uiio-e: it <loes not seem 
Like that; and yet it made me feel 
So glad T wish it had been real/' 
She sighed, and paused a little while. 
To find her listenei'S with her eyes; 
She caught each look and feeble smile, 
Anticipating their replies. 

*'I dreamed that I had come beside 
A rushing river, deep and wide; 
Its waters from an unseen source 
AVere surging on an unknown course. 
And yer they seemed to be as clear 
As waters of a pebbled mere ; 
I laid me down beside the stream 
And fell asleep, as you have seen 
Me slumbering beneath this dream; 
My mother came — and such a smile 
She wore — it was a heavenly smile! 
And she was as she used to he. 
Save in the substance that was she; 
And as a morher lifts her child 
She raised me in her outstretched arms, 
And seemed to jisk me, as she smiled. 
If she could place me in the surge — 
And all this time hei- looks were charms. 
1 did not speak; she did not urge. 
But genth' let me settle down. 



80 SHADOWLIGHT. 

At which I h;ul ;i brief re^^ret, 
Then thought that only this was set 
Between us and the future crown; 
And as I sank 1113^ thoughts were fleet 
From childhood's spring to winter's 

sleet. 
And all the seasons of my life 
Swept bj^ me witli their storms of strife; 
But when the soft and cooling tide 
Had placed me on the other side 
I did not feel my cureless wound, 
I lay and listened for a sound; 
Upon the steps I seemed to lie, 
Before a half transparent door. 
That led into a mansion high, 
And cuch as never seen before; 
And helpless there I seemed to wait. 
Before that door — wide as a gate — 
Then I awoke; well I recall. 
But cannot understand it all; 
So strange and real it doth seem. 
As if it could no': be a dream." 

Aroused by that familiar sound, 
The bruised and slowl}^ dying hound, 
^ow pressed aside the cottage door, 
And dragged his parts along the floor; 
The huntress saw him struggling there, 



SHADOWLIGHT. SI 

And with a heart of sudden care , 
And with a mighty draft of strength 
8at up and stretched her arms their 

length, 
As if forgetting self and pain 
She vvouM caress the dog again. 
At this her wounds burst forth afresh, 
And quivers shook her bloodless flesh ; 
vShe gasped of thirst and faincing fell, 
And stretched her limbs upon the bed, 
Then faintly whispered her farewell. 
And struggled briefly, and was dead. 
The dog dragged on his helpless length 
Until he reached his master's side. 
Then quivered with his loss of strength, 
Caressed htr hanging hand, and died. 

Before the cottage door appeared 
The Orphan, with his prancing deer; 
Within he thrust his head and leered. 
As if still haunted bj" a fear ; 
About the room he fl ung his glance, 
Then drew away with laugh and dance; 
He toss his long and yellow locks. 
But seemed to watch the slope of rocks. 
As if some friendly foot or foe 
Would enter there from paths below; 
And lo! the mission-hunter came 



82 SHADOWLIGHT. 

Along that slope, with gun in grasp, 
His eyes were watchful as foi* game, 
And often on the boy were cast; 
But when he reached the cottage loor 
He paused and scanned the living o'er; 
But when he marked the distant bed, 
That showed the pale face of the dead. 
He spoke as if an aged friend 
Had come to an untimely end. 

That evening, in the gathering gloom^ 
The hunter bore the swathed-up dead 
In silence from the little room, 
Down where the gorge and river wed; 
Within the boat he placed his weight, 
As if it were a tender freight; 
And with the captives and that load 
He urged the long form of his bark, 
Through waters and through friendly 

dark. 
And toward the neighboring mission 

rowed. 



SIIADOWLIGHT. 



PART FOURTH. 



THE BATTLE OF BAD AXE. 

Come, let us sit beneath this tree. 

The highest on this lofty hill; 

It was a weary climb, J see 

That thou art Hushed and moistened still ; 

But here the fresh air seems as cool 

As waters of a crystal pool; 

And at our sun-checked feet is laid 

The moving figure of the shade; 

From this shelf-rock, which makes our 

seat, 
Behold the field-squared earth below. 
The slopes of waving grass and wheat, 
The unclaimed hills and valleys low, 
The wooded wastes as fresh and green 
As those cropped pastures in between. 
O'er which the white flocks come and go : 
Yon line of bluffs, tree-clad and bold. 
That still maintains its ancient seat, 
Shows rocky faces, scarred and old 
But hides the waters at its feet; 
But there the Mississippi bears 
The silver of a hundred lakes 
Dov\rn to a tropic's balmy airs, 



SHAlrOWLIGHT. 



Mid blossom-banks its water makes; 
But nearer, where that grassy grove 
Slopes to the bright line of the brook, 
I mark a maiden and a beau, 
In dalliance wander to and fro; 
Perchance they whisper words of love. 
Or speak them in the tone and look. 
Ah, peaceful is the scene and still. 
As if kind heaven had wished to make 
A quiet for the vale and hill. 
Which man had never dared to break; 
But war once flung its banner out 
Upon this balm and quiet air, 
These hills have seen the charge and rout. 
And heard their madness r.nd despair. 

The twilight of a drear3" day 
Was bringing shade upon the land 
When, through this vale, a dusky band 
Of fugitives took weary way; 
Thej'^ sought yon broken slope of bank. 
Where forest timber still grows rank, 
Upon a river deep as they. 
A few brief months before this mass 
Had crossed, beside these bluffs of stone. 
To seek a land \vhose game and grass. 
Forbidden now, were once their own; 
But hunted in their old domain, 



SHADOM'^IJGHT. 8;i 

The}' came with half their number slain. 
To find a safe and qiiiek retreat 
From threatening danger and defeat, 
A bold and hopeful band thej" went. 
Urged on b\' wrongs and discontent; 
They came a crippled, starving few. 
That lessened as they onward flew; 
And yet their only hope was flight. 
At morn, at noon, and still at night. 

Now faint and weary and footsore 
The}' pau.-^ed upon the wood-slope green. 
In sight of safety's open door. 
Though lapid water lay between; 
Like deer long pressed by eager hounds. 
Yet i-each at last a water-course. 
But ere the}' dare its breadth and force 
They pause and listen for the sound; 
So these now waited, and their scouts 
Kept watch on all the inland routes, 
To guard the helpless with their lives. 
Against the danger of surprise. 
These couched in darkness and in dews. 
While some went searching lost canoes. 
Which had been left, in grasses rank. 
When last they saw this river-bank; 
By these they hoped, ere morning light, 
To reach the land that lav in sight. 



§0 SHADOWLIGHT. 

In that lone hour, in that lone camp, 
Beside the wood and lowland dami), 
An Indian boy lay moaning out 
A fever's last delirium; 
For all the miles that these had come. 
In that qniek made and foodless route. 
He lay in feeble moan, or dumb. 
The object of heart-hope and doubt; 
Because a chieftain's favorite son 
Xu courtesy was left undone; 
And now to give his weak life aid, 
A little wigwam had been made; 
In this the mother and the wife 
Above her noble offspring hung. 
And watched the ebbing of his life. 
Yet fondly to each vain hope clung; 
But when he made a start or sob 
A mother's heart gave quicker throb, 
A mother's voice made sudden moan. 
Far mocked and answered in wood-tone. 

It was a dreary scene without; 
A hundred dimly outlined forms 
Were. moving to and fro about. 
Or crouching on the forest mould. 
By mossy bank or leaf-bed old, 
Damp with a season's many storms; 
Beyond, the river sobbed and tied, 



SHADOWLTGHT, 87 

The forest moaned and waved o'erhead. 
And fancy brought to many an ear 
The sound of fleet pursuers near. 
Beside the wigwam, in his^ grief, 
Xow stood the brave and watchful chief: 
His troubled heart grew hot within, 
As he beheld his people's state. 
And thought of what miglit be their fate. 
Or what would be, and what had been; 
He turned again, but ere he left. 
Aside the wigwam's door was pressed, 
To cast a look of pain'and pride j 
Upon his oftspring ere it died. 

The child had slept, but now awoke; 
It glanced about in haste and spoke: 
**I heard the sound ot heavy feet; v 

I heard the charge of horsemen fleet; 
I saw my kinsmen, one by one. 
Go down before the sword and gun; 
Flee, mother, flee, while yet is night; 
The foe will come with dawning light!'" 
"Fear not, my child, thy fathers arm 
Will keep from thee and me such harm." 
And then she hummed lovv melodies. 
Lake fitful winds among the tree?; 
The father dropped the hingless door. 
And moved, awaj^ to hear no more. 



SHADOWLIGHT. 



Again the child wiS hushed and slept; 
Again the night winds wailed and wept; 
And, save the river's sobbing wave, 
Or sounds of feet oft passing near, 
The place was^silent as^the grave. 
As dark, and damp, and full of fear; 
Awhile he slept with dreams unbroke. 
Then with a sudden start awoke, 
And turning in his blanket spoke: 
"I saw a land of streams and woods. 
Of grassy prairies, fields of maze, 
And Indian towns beneath a haze 
That dimmed the glimmer of the floods ; 
And there was game on every slope, 
Fat feeding deer and antelope. 
And on the marsh the wild fowls hovered 
Above the white nests, scarcely covered; 
Between that land and where I stood 
A mighty water spread its flood; 
But while I gazed a light canoe 
Shot from the bank and towards me 

drew; 
And like a mist or gush of storm 
Was it and;that pale boatman's form ; 
It reached at last the rocky bank. 
And then the boatman waved his hand, 
As if to bear me to^that land, 



SHADOWLIGHT. 89 

But rose not with the wave, nor sank; 
Sa3% mother, wouldst thou go with me. 
To those green woods and waters free'?" 
'•:Nray, nay, my child; thy hunger turns 
Thy foolish dreams, and tever burns; 
Xow listen, listen, while T try 
To sing thy favorite lullaby." 
He closed his eyes, and for awhile 
He seemed to listen and to smile; 
He smiled, or else perchance pain 
Played on his childish face again,' 
And then he said, "I hear tlie sound 
Of horsemen on the hilJs around — 
I see him beckon w ith his hand! 
Come, mother, mother, come with me! 
1 go to cross ; I see the land ; 
He beckons still; he calls to me!'' 
Thrice moved his limbs as if he fled; 
And then he stretched his hand and 

grasped 
Some shadow that before him passed. 
And held it tight, and soon was dead. 

Ah, let them hide the form in earth, 
Within the wild-wood, drear and old; 
The forest hushed him at his birth, 
'Tis fitting it should keep his mould: 
They hid it well, nor deem a foe 



dd SHADOWLIGHT. 

Shall trample on that unmarked grave 
Before another sun shall go. 
Before another dew shall lave; 
But many a kinsman here shall fall. 
Their blood shall be the grave's tirst rain 
And bright steel flashing o'er it all 
Shall be the first sun on the stain. 

The morning broke, and with it came 
A warning in the rifle's sound. 
Upon the wooded hills around, 
That told the hunt of human game; 
Now rose a mighty cry of woe 
That reached the ears of friend and foe; 
It made these eager for the strife, 
But those were more determined still; 
And round about, on slope and hill. 
The battle burst with sudden life; 
Beside the river, young and old, 
The maids, the mothers, and the wives, 
Forgetting weakness, hunger, cold, 
Xow trusted to the flood their lives; 
And many reached the wooded isles, 
Beyond the shallows of the stream, 
But soon, with shriek or watery scream. 
Went down to cold uncounted miles;. 
But now misfortune burst anew 
Upon the weak and lessening few ; 



SHADOWLICtHT. 91 

An avmefl steamer showed its shape, 
To crush the last hope of escape; 
With this before, and those behind. 
And wild, wild waters all aroiui'd. 
It was but left them now to find 
The grave that is not made in ground. 

Upon the hills the fight still raged, 
And stubborn was the stand there made; 
But when that stream became the grave 
Of all they loved anil hoped to save, 
They yielded, scattering everywhere 
To the wild music of despair; 
Their foes victorious iiosv pursued. 
To urge a figlit no more renewed; 
They hunted far o'er hill and dell. 
And where they found them, there they 

fell; 
Until the last of that starved band 
Lay cold in water or on land. 



SHADOWLIGHT. 



PART FIFTH. 



THE MISSION 

The world has had its holy men, 
Long centuries have been supplied. 
They lived in modest}' and died ; 
To-day they live and die as then. 
The mission-teacher Luke St. Mark 
Had kept before his eyes the plan 
Of righteousness designed for man. 
And followed it through light and dark: 
He had no will for woi'ldly waj's, 
'No wish for memory or praise. 
Save that whieh ever needs must come 
Upon the ta-ks of life well done. 

The sunset of a peaceful day 

Pressed through the trees its bars of gold 

LTpon the mission, worn and gray. 

Because it was already old; 

The little Gothic church was there. 

The court of penitcMice and prayer. 

Where once the native came to bow. 

And make anew the broken vow; 

Beside upon a little slope. 

And in the shadow of its wall. 

Were thej^ who heard the teacher's call. 



^ II ADO^y LIGHT. \)6 

And seemed to die in Christian hope; 
Near bj' a double dwelling stood. 
Where dwelt the gray-haired teacher 

With that free ranger of the w-ood 
The mission-hunter, whose good skill 
Siipijlicd Ms empty board with food; 
And here tlw dark Canadian wife. 
In working out her master's will, 
Thus helped to preach the word of lite. 

*Twas eve, and through the falling shade 

The teacher from his task had strayed, 

Down where the inland waters make 

The body of a little lake; 

He stood upon the grassy hight. 

Above that cool and waveless mere. 

His eyes went wandering with delight 

Upon the landscape stretching here; 

From tree-clad bluffs, and upland browu. 

The prairie reached the timber-belt. 

Upon whose edge the settler dwelt. 

Within the nucleus of a town: 

The river wandered toward the deep, 

Upon the wood-clad bottom-land. 

Far Hanked by bluffs, rock-faced and 

steep. 
And furrowed down bj- torrent-hand. 



94 SHADOWLIGHT. 

'Ho life the heav}' silence stirred, 
Save now and then, but faintly heard. 
The call and swoop of some^lad bird,. 
Returning from its inland flight, 
To these cool waters for the night; 
Or when perchance some pi-airie cock 
Called up his skulking dame and flock. 
But latelj^ scattered iu the grass. 
By sunny slope or dank raoniss; 
Along the west a streak of graj^ 
Still held the color of the day ; 
The little moon peeped often through 
The moving curtain of its cloud, 
And all the valleys lay ii» shroud. 
Beneath an atmosphere of dew. 

Awhile the teacner Iln gered there, 
In meditation or in prayer. 
And oft within his ready grasp 
His well worn bible was unchisped. 
As if he fain would teach the word 
To this dum audience of stone, 
Or, haply in his heart were stirred 
Old memories while ho stood alone: 
At last he wandered from the spot 
To pause before a crystal sjDring, 
Where once, 'tis said, in days forgot. 
An angel paused on passing wing. 



•illADOWLIGHT. !>5 

And blessed the waters gushing there. 
To all who might ere drink in prayer. 

What se€St thou within that glass — 
That mirror framed in mould and grass ? 
Thj' earlj' home; thy mother's face, 
Once sacred h^ld, and sacred now? 
Or dost thou catch a fleeting trace 
Of thy gray father, beard and brow? 
Not that? then, haply, she who played 
Beside thee, by the brook or shade — 
Nay, naj", thy thought is far above 
The memory of childhood love! 
Then do the waters show to thee 
Those who have here once bent the 

knee — 
From that lost builder of the mound 
For sacrifice, or burial ground. 
Whose history is only known 
Through broken tool or crumbled bone, 
To that bold foot, and bolder hand. 
That wrested from his grasp the land, 
And reared his wigwam on this tide. 
And wooed and won his dusky bride? 
Or farther still, dost thou behold 
The foremost of thy own pale mould — 
From good iSIarcxuette, and Joliet, 
To Carver, who with dusk}^ guide 



96 SHADOWLIGHT. 

Came far to linger this beside? 
ISTot all of these, or only these, 
The holy nfian in revery sees; 
He sees a race of men whose bent 
Is worlclliness. who live content 
Without the holy covenant; 
He sees, as he has seen before, 
His duty, and he wants no more. 

IsTow wandering to the chapel near. 
He pressed aside the heavy door. 
And entered what to him was dear, 
And dear to other hearts before; 
And through the dark and raftered 

church 
The mimic footfalls made fleet search. 
As if for passage from the room. 
Out of the silence and the gloom ; 
Then, kneeling by the altar there, 
He offered up his evening prayer, 
For wisdom, and for heavenly light, 
To guide his followers aright, 
For patience, and for righteous skill. 
To teach and do his Father's will. 

At last, completing prayer and rite, 
He closed the chapel for the night; 
Then, wandering through the burial- 



SHADOWLIGHT. Vt 

ground. 
His old retreat again was found. 
*T\vas summer-time and yet there shone 
A fire upon his hearth of stone, 
And seated in a humble place. 
His shadow crouched upon the wall, 
As down he bent, the lines to trace 
Within the book most prized of all; 
First indistinct, then loud he read 
Of him who Israel had led 
From bondage, and their fetters broke. 
From Pharaoh, and his galling yoke. 
Then said, when he had ceased to read, 
**As well 1 would that I could lead." 
Sometimes we learn to recognize 
The footfall of a frequent guests 
We know the knock, and mourn or prize 
The meeting, ere it is expressed; 
So now the footfall at his door 
Recalled the teacher back to life, 
He knew the hunter's zealous wife 
Awaited, ere she pressed his floor; 
She came unbidden in, and spoke 
About the evening meal delayed, 
And wondered where her husband staid, 
But thought him with the village folk, 
Because he said he should not hunt 
This afternoon, as was his wont; 



98 SHADOWLIGHT. 

And then, forgetting where she stood, 
She spoke in nn impatient mood, 
About some town associate. 
Where, doubtless, he was lingering late; 
The teacher stopped her. and a frown 
Upon his features settled down; 
And then he said, '^The lotted slinre 
Of trials each of us must bear, 
But God sometimes afflicts to teach 
Us moderation in our speed)." 
Beneath the teacher's quick reproof 
She held her bright black eyes aloof. 
And then she asKed if he knew ought 
Of v/hereabout of him she sought; 
To this he said, "'At noon I stood 
Beside the chapeTs open door. 
And watched a youth within the wood 
Who surely strange appearance bore; 
He seemed to come and go in fear. 
And ever followed by a deer; 
At last thy spouse, with gun in hand, 
Went down beside the timbered land. 
At which the boy as if in fright 
Fled down the river out of sight; 
Then reappeared below the bend. 
Accompanied by his strange friend. 
And beckoned with the bone he bore, 
And disappeared to come no more." 



SHADOWLIGIIT. '90 

The woman «^ighed as if in pain, 
■ And hung her head, then spoke again: 
"■"Tis evil omen, it is said, 
To meet that deer b}' Orphan led, 
And it is rumored far and wide. 
That when he hangs about a door 
Disaster follows sure and sore, 
And sometimes one within has died." 
With this the teacher smiled and said, 
"'Xo man hath died before his time, 
And by the word that I have read. 
Out of the book that is divine. 
Ye know that he who marks the fall 
Of sparrow, will protect us all." 

The hunter's full, funiiliar voice 

Now sounded at the kitchen tire. 

It summoned her, and left no choice. 

But loud repeated its desire; 

She came, and in his homely phrase 

He introduced the captive maids. 

The fireplace made its light and shades 

And on her features showed amaze; 

And then he spoke again in brief. 

And told the story of their grief. 

Their chance escape, and wandering 

flight. 
The hunter's home, where but that night 



100 SHADOWLl&HT. 

By chance he fomul them, and had bio't 
Them thus far toward the home they 

sought. 
At this the lonely maidens' cause 
Possessed her heart, and with the pause 
She bid them welcome, and with grace 
Gave utmost comfort of the place. 
Awhile the hunter lingered there. 
Then sought the neighboring Settlement. 
To see a messenger soon sent 
To ease a parent in despair. 

The morning came and i-aised the lid 
Of darkness from the mission old. 
And blushed her crimson to behold 
The world had waked before she did; 
For there was hurrying to and fro. 
Some coming from the Settlement 
In haste as if the}" had been sent, 
But fleetest tar was young Monroe. 
Since that ill starred, eventful day 
When these fair maids were dragged 

away, 
This ma)i had planned and searched and 

dared. 
And men had said he little cared 
For life unless these two were spared, 
And now he came before the light. 



SHADOW LIGHT. 101 

To meet again his lost delight. 

And had you seen, and judged him sore. 

You might have thought it meant no 

more. 
And here the kind and gray-haired sire 
Came from the hearthstone desolate. 
To find again his heart's desire. 
Fate taken, and restored bj" fate; 
And had you seen them when they met, 
Thy cold eyes, haply, had been wet, 
And memory would retain it yet; 
But men have joys and sometimes grief 
That reach bej'ond the tear or speech. 
Fate gave the father joy not brief, 
And placed the lover's in his reach. 

But there was one who might have filled 
A welcome place about that fire — 
The Orphan — but his heart was chilled 
To half that human lives desire; 
Long had the hiuiter searched without, 
But naught of him or deer was found, 
And since that night is little doubt 
That in the river both were drowned; 
For o'er the lofty bank a track 
Led boldly down but came not back; 
And even now, 'tis said, in June, 
When soft the southern breezes blow, 



10'2 SHABOWLIGHT. 

And faint the whippefwill doth tnne 

His cadence in the dell below. 

A phantom figure, wild and white. 

Close followed by a phantom deer. 

Is seen to glide down through the night. 

And o'er the bank to disappear. 

But ere that first hour's greeting passed 

The teacher read his holy book; 

It brought a comfort unsurpassed; 

And then his voice went up in prayer, 

And many an evening since it shook 

With such emotion as was there. 

The aged father now less gay. 

Had repossessed his ea«y way. 

And soon he rose and spoke with zest 

(You might have thought his words a 

jest, 
For this he said), '"In books of old 
A somewhat marvelous tale is told, 
Which I am moved to tell anew. 
Then ask of each unbiased view. 

^'There was a pair, both young and fair. 
Who truly loved and knew no care; 
The youth to gain upon the main 
His fortune tried, nor tried in vain; 
'Tis farther said ere day to wed 
Each one had heard the other dead; 



SHADOWLTGHT. lO.i 

For Aears the\' mourned, and then the 

two 
Were wed to wthers good and true; 
Time passed; by chance again they met. 
And though they would could not forget; 
And each one bound a ci.ild to wed 
The other's when good time had sped; 
These young in years and free in heait. 
By fortime strange were thrown apart; 
Yet on the day which had been set, 
By stranger fortunes still they met. 
Now, should the contract binding be, 
Oi- each be sec at liberty"?'" 

■Twere ill advised here to saj' 

Who first this simple riddle guessed, 

Or who was sad. or who was gay. 

And who thought keeping it were best. 

But Phebe knew a youth had gained 

The contest for a woman's heart. 

When b}^ that pledge he might have 

claimed 
What now was his by vow and act. 
And soon the little chapel-nest 
Flung open door to kin and guest, 
And kneeling by the altar there 
Were young Monroe and Phebe fair; 
And those who heard the teacher read 



104 SHADOWLIGHT. 

The solemn service and the praj'er, 

Said surely this is heaven's best deed; 

And never shall his skill be tried 

On truer groom or fairer bride; 

And never show this truth more bright; 

There is no da}'' without its night, 

No Shadow but is chased bj'^ Light. 



Well, Ti-aveler, we have vvandered long. 
By stream and lake and in the wood. 
Some paths the guide pursued were 

wrong. 
And many hnd but little good; 
But we have felt the sun and air. 
Far from the hard and dusty street. 
And we have stole a day from care. 
And found soft grasses for our feet; 
But here diverge the path we take, 
Our duties beckon us anew, 
And may the green haunts we forsake. 
Go with you, Traveler, now adieu! 

THE END. 



THE ENTERPRISE, 

Evaiisville, . - - Wiseoitslii. 

An independent journal, pnlilished by the 
EvaiisvJIle l^ul)li3liiiig Association. Issued 
every Wednesday and Saun'day morning. M.V. 
Pratt, President; C, A. I..ibl)y, Etlitor. 

Tlie Kntkkprisk has the l.-ir-gest circulation 
of any paper in Western Hock Co., whidi is 
rapidly increasing. Issued semi- weekly, it is 
as good and cheap an advertising medium as 
can be found between Chicago and st Paul, 
.•^rimple copies sent free to any address. Rates 
of advertising made known on application. 
Sulisoriplion : Tuesday edition, $l.2r> per year; 
Saturday, Sfi.oo; botii S2.(K). 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




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